An apology to My Sisters

Oh dear.

I had a friend he was messed up. He really hurt some people one night after drinking and getting behind the wheel of a car.

I went to his sentencing. I cried for him. I visited him in federal prison.

He died one week before my Grandma did; two weeks before Thanksgiving that year. He died by overdose.

I should also tell you, he died the same year my son was born. He died right when my child was ready to be one year old — this 3-days before the one year anniversary of the death of my nephew — a 20 year old kid.

My nephew called the day my son was born. He said he wanted to come see us, but that he had this opportunity to go on a road trip with his girlfriend and her sister. He asked me if I was ok with him meeting my son after Christmas.

Stupidly, I said, “sure! The baby will be here when you get back. Please be safe and have fun! I love you!”

He never made it to his destination. The car accident that took his life was caused by a drunk driver. I spent the next 10 years — the first 10 of my son’s life writing letters to the parole board to keep him in jail.

I think you know where I’m going with this…

Alexainie, my sister, we cannot know what we cannot know. We get blinded by our perspective. This is a normal part of the human condition. Took me a long time to recognize it, but it’s true.

And I have never forgiven myself for telling him to “go! Be a young adult!” I should have said, no way, that would really hurt me. He may have hated me for the rest of his life, but at least he would still be here. I was still in the hospital when he died. It was horrific.

My ex husband came to the hospital late and told me what happened. I couldn’t understand. My baby was in the room and I just started screaming when it finally sunk in.

The nurses rushed the room to ask what was happening and I don’t know how they understood what I was saying. They asked me if I wanted clergy…

My child screaming his head off in the fucking Tupperware thing they put babies in… I said,

“I’d like you to please get my fucking baby out of this room and comfort him because I am not capable at the moment.”

They looked at me with such pity. Even in the middle of the night. The nurses would say, “we just don’t even know what to do for you. We don’t know how to help.” While trying to talk me out of my bed.

What was I supposed to do?

I was in love with my son, but I was at fault for another mother losing hers. I thought about that friend who I supported through his ordeal.

I felt very disgusted with myself.

I am scowl-on mad right now. I’ll never get over it.

I don’t know why I’m still writing. I’m going to stop now. Love you.


One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.